The Two O'clock Diamond Chase
by charredred
Summary: A short chase between a young police officer and a criminal mastermind. one-shot.


_Disclaimer: I own nothing related to Nadja. To tell you the truth I don't get the whole purpose of doing a disclaimer...yes I am dumb..._

**A/N:: **OOOh my first AnN fanfic!! Hope you like it :)

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**The Two O'clock Diamond Chase**

A mirror, hanged on the wall, reflected the image of him, as if it were watching him. A masked thief dressed in black. He stood there, staring at the diamond which lay in his white-gloved hands, intrigued by its beauty—a diamond bigger than the size of his thumbnail, a symbol of pulchritude. Each facet reflected moonlight and sparkled beautifully and scintillatingly. The beauty of the stone made him realise why the man went into such trouble to steal it from the museum. And he was doing a similar thing right now—stealing it back. He needed to act quickly. The man may have heard his footsteps; he could have woken up by now. The last thing he wanted was to get caught.

_The diamond will be returned to where it came from.  
_—_The Black Rose_

He placed the usual black card on the velvet pillow to take the diamond's place, and dropped the diamond into a small cloth bag, before starting for the window. He knew opening the window would make cluttering noises and wake them up, but he was confident that he would be able to leap out the window before anyone caught him. He was working on the hinges when he heard footsteps coming towards the room he was in. In haste, he pulled the metal clasp and pushed the door open violently, then leaped onto the window sill, getting ready to jump down. He was on the second storey. For an ordinary man, it would take a great amount of courage to jump down, but not for the thief, who had already grown accustomed to jumping out the second floor.

The door creaked. He turned his head to get a glimpse of Anthony Turner, who stood horror-struck, pointing a shaking finger at him.

"You-You're…"

He ignored the man, leaped down swiftly, and like a cat, landed gracefully, as if it were nothing. His footsteps echoed in the night as he ran through the gates and out into the streets. London was filled with dark alleyways and narrow streets, and no one knew about them better than he did. For all he knew, the police would start searching in a matter of minutes, not that he worried about it. He liked it when the dead streets of the London night became lively again when policemen with lights ran around, panicking. He could just hear the man, which he left far behind, roar the familiar words:

"It's the Black Rose!"

His lips curled into a sneer. The chase was about to begin.

* * *

The young officer loathed night shifts. His whole body seemed to be still asleep and he was filled with inertia. Being a part of the police was hard and tiring, especially when you were given a heavy lamp and yelled at to go and find the Black Rose. He hoped this would be the last time the Black Rose stole something in London. Patrolling during the night was not that a hard task, but running around the streets peering into the shadows of alleyways to make sure the Black Rose wasn't there was a painstaking job. Plus, the Black Rose was not just an ordinary thief, he was a criminal mastermind. Even the greatest of policemen fail to catch him, how could _he?_

He held a bulky lamp which, for him, took effort just to carry it around, and jogged his way through the dark streets of London. He had never seen the real Black Rose, no one had. Only on posters which warned everyone of him, and even that was drawn—by illustrators who received information on what he looked like from victims. The only thing he knew was that the Black Rose wore black, and of course, a mask.

The officer walked by himself—the rest of the men seemed to be looking for the thief elsewhere. He sort of _did_ know that there was little chance of the Black Rose being here, but he really didn't care. He just hoped that everyone would give up and end this whole search soon.

He was turning at a corner when he thought he heard light footsteps. He stopped. Another footstep. Who on earth would be awake at this time of night? He looked at his clock. It was ten past two.

_Could it be…The Black Rose? _

His heart leaped. He suddenly wished he had chosen a different path ten minutes ago. But this was his job. He had to make sure, just in case…

More faint footsteps echoed through the chill night. He tip-toed his way into a narrow street nearby, where he thought the sounds were coming from. He was panic-stricken when he saw a black cloth flip in the air and disappear around the corner.

"Hey!" he shouted, his lips trembling. He couldn't hide his fright. He sprinted and turned around at the corner, finding a blond man dressed in black running away from him several metres ahead of him, his black cape billowing in his wake. The young police officer chased after him, his panting breath making white clouds in the thin air. The thief was fast. He was unsure of how long until he gave up running after him. Shadows of the two adorned the alleyway walls—one tall and lean, with an silhouette of a hat on the head, darting forwards agilely, and the other slightly shorter, thinner, and carrying the only light in the dead of the night.

"Halt!" he spat out, knowing that he wouldn't anyway. The thief turned his head to glimpse him as he ran. He was able to get a good look at the thief's pallid face, although it was masked. He chased after the villain, who turned at another corner. London was a maze. A perfect place for a thief.

After turning at the corner and running several metres, he was surprised when he realised he had lost track of the thief. He stood there not knowing what to do, trying to hamper his panting breath. He wondered if the thief was still within his hearing.

"Damn it," he cursed under his breath. Disappointment filled his heart. He was thinking of where the Black Rose might've gone to when he heard a haunting voice filled with smugness coming from behind.

"Good try. But why did you decide to search for me here, when others went to the west?"

Startled, he turned around and gasped to find the thief standing before him. The lamp slipped out of his hand and shattered on the ground. Before he could even open his mouth, he was knocked down onto the asphalt. The last things he saw were the set of crimson triangles of the mask on the villain's moonlit face, and his taunting smirk. He lay there faintly conscious, eyes closed, listening to the thief leap from roof to roof.

* * *

The wind blew gently and caressed the young man's face, making his blond hair move. He sat on a bench listening to the group of young men chattering and walking by.

"...so you're finally getting married. That's great."

"No, we haven't decided yet, you know, not fully, but I'm saying we might."

A teenager, who was holding a pile of newspapers, walked by.

"Extra, extra!"

"Black Rose news?" one of the young men with untidy brown hair asked the boy eagerly.

"Yeah, he broke into Anthony Turner's mansion last night, in London."

"What did he steal?"

"Buy the paper. Extra, extra!" The boy waved an issue of the paper above his head, attracting the attention of by-passers.

A bronze coin was handed to him and he gave an issue to the brown-haired man. The young man hungrily read the front page.

"What'd he do, Kingsley?"

"He stole it back from the villain, it's back in the museum! And it says the museum is going to reinforce the security to prevent any more burglars from stealing it!"

The men gathered in a circle around the one newspaper issue, curious to know what had happened.

"Wasn't Turner a collector?"

"Yeah he is, and he's rich. The paper says he hired thieves to steal it. What a jerk. He's been arrested, thanks to the Black Rose."

He quietly listened to the men Wow-ing and Aah-ing as they started walking again. A stray cat scurried towards him and leaped onto the bench. He looked at the cat curled up next to him from the corners of his eyes. Cats seemed to be following him everywhere. _I don't have any food, you know, _he thought.

"What a hero!"

"Hero or not, he _is _a thief, you know. If you say so, then that means…"

The voices faded and he could no longer hear the discussion. Keith Harcourt got up and headed for an inn—he was tired from running around last night, and he hadn't slept a wink. Thieves needed rest too. But before that, he needed a good glass of alcohol. He wondered how the young police officer was doing.

_Wasn't _he_ a brave lad._

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**A/N: **I haven't written a fanfic for aggeeesss so forgive me if it's crap, but anyway, please review.


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